This copy is for your personal non-commercial use only. To order presentation-ready copies of Toronto Star content for distribution to colleagues, clients or customers, or inquire about permissions/licensing, please go to: www.TorontoStarReprints.com

For some, happy Facebook personas cover up a depressing reality

The author of the memoir Drunk Mom on how our carefully curated social media personas can paint a false portrait.

A photo of Madison Holleran from the In Memory of Madison Holleran Facebook page started by her family and dedicated to suicide prevention and ending the stigma attached to mental illness.

By Jowita BydlowskaSpecial to the Star

Tues., June 2, 2015

I went to Cuba last December. On Facebook and Instagram, I posted pictures, which showed what a great time I was having: beach, laughing in the waves with my son. A selfie with my partner making funny faces. On that trip, I drank. That broke me: a feeling of utter failure even though I understand that alcoholism is a chronic condition and that slips happen. Still, I became deeply depressed over it, but the beach looks way better than puffy eyes. And I’m a believer in “fake it till you make it.” Except sometimes you don’t.

In Philadelphia, on the evening of Jan. 17 this year, 19-year-old Madison Holleran, a beautiful successful athlete, jumped from the ninth level of a parking garage. According to the ESPN article “Split Image” by Kate Fagan, Madison’s Instagram was a collection of uplifting photos and inspirational quotes. It was a curated, filtered portrait of a life of a cheerful young woman. After Madison’s death, her loved ones put together a different portrait: one of a complicated perfectionist who occasionally talked about being depressed, who was unhappy with her school and who was devastated by even the smallest athletic failures.

Sometimes the expectations we have of ourselves can kill us. Perhaps it’s better to believe our own lies about what’s really going on; perhaps what’s really going on is too private to broadcast to people who might not be capable of treating our brokenness gently. And social media might not be exactly group therapy — those digi peeps don’t owe you anything; no support or even a “like” or a follow. (On Facebook, even the word “friends” is an illusion: how many are friends in real life?)

“I like my Facebook happy! Or dark, smart and funny. But, I don’t want it real,” says a friend, Heidi Rittenhouse-Pyper. “I try to only post positive news stories as well as keep my posts on a light and positive note — not so much because I want everyone to think that everything is perfect, but because it’s a public space. I don’t go to a party and cry into the punch bowl to old friends or new friends about drudgery, feelings of inadequacy, my fears, my demons etc. I save that for my inner circle. I don’t mind when people post about a major blow or what they’re going through, but on occasion, I find it a bit uncomfortable, too intimate,” she says.

Another friend, Liz Hodgson says, “I wish I had my Facebook life!”

Article Continued Below

A friend whose Instagram I follow, Kara Aaserud, posts beautiful pictures of her family. It’s the kind of life that makes one jealous to look at and that convinces that she is, indeed, the kind of person who’s achieved a familial paradise. She actually is happy and often hashtags things like #lucky or #love. But she says, “We have always kept our best pictures in the photo albums that we display on the coffee table for all to see (and our darker sides in our journals under the mattress or deeply hidden in a drawer). Add to that a digital trail that never goes away, and the possibility of future employers and family members digging up the stuff we’re not so proud of, and is it really that surprising that people don’t display their inadequacies for all the world to see? I think the real issue here is in the groupthink that we must expose all of the people behind the glorified accounts and personas.”

Another friend who wants to be anonymous (she’s in media and has a public profile) says, “I am the perfect example of this. My travels, my happy ‘Look where I am!’ posts. Everyone responds, ‘You look so happy,’ when in reality I’m in bed until 4 p.m. crying.”

There’s a picture of a smiling woman and a smiling guy on Facebook. Alysa Angus of Rhode Island says about this 2009 photo, “Looks like me and my boyfriend at the time heading to a nice dinner or something, right? What very few knew is that we were leaving the courthouse after I agreed to pay $5,000 to my (former) oldest friend and be on probation for a year for felony assault and battery charges. The case lasted two long, excruciating years where I swan-dived (or more aptly, cannonballed) deep into my addiction to alcohol. The overjoyed face was due to no longer having ‘possible prison time’ said in conversations any more.”

A few months ago, another Facebook friend posted a long account of his depression that followed going through a divorce. It made me uncomfortable to read it and on impulse I unfollowed him. I didn’t want to see it. I wanted to see jokes and silly pictures — like Heidi — and that just didn’t fit in. I followed him again, later, because I thought it was brave of him to do that and I saw there were dozens of comments supporting him.

After Madison died, her family started a Facebook page called “In Memory of Madison Holleran.” According to the ESPN article, “The site is dedicated to suicide prevention and ending the stigma attached to mental illness. Included on the page are stories of Madison, and stories from people struggling with depression, looking for a community.”

This is an excellent use of social media: a page like that might actually work like a virtual group therapy after all, and if not that, at least those who suffer can see that they’re not alone. The wall of a computer screen allows for anonymity and might be a great training ground for reaching out in real life.

Six years ago, I gave birth to a beautiful baby boy. We took hundreds of photos in the first year of his life and if someone were to look back, this person would think we were the happiest family ever. The reality was I was slowly killing myself and endangering my child by drinking all the time. I felt terrifyingly alone and ashamed. But when I looked at the pictures I was confused: maybe things weren’t that bad? I used my social media to keep up the delusion. I put a giant smile on: it covered the bleeding wound.

I still can’t look at many of those pictures. Same with the Cuba trip. The pictures tell a lie. My duplicity brings no comfort.

Correction – June 3, 2015: This article was edited from a previous version that misspelled the surname of Kara Aaserud.

Jowita Bydlowska is the author of Drunk Mom, a memoir. She is writing a series of columns on mental health.

More from the Toronto Star & Partners

LOADING

Copyright owned or licensed by Toronto Star Newspapers Limited. All rights reserved. Republication or distribution of this content is expressly prohibited without the prior written consent of Toronto Star Newspapers Limited and/or its licensors. To order copies of Toronto Star articles, please go to: www.TorontoStarReprints.com